


Wallpaper Snowflakes

by bakrstreetboys



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sadness, i cried while writing it, its sad I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakrstreetboys/pseuds/bakrstreetboys
Summary: The memories raced through Sherlocks head, never ceasing, never dulling in intensity. His feet dragged him back to the apartment he now lived in alone and he slowly sank to the floor, flakes of wallpaper catching on his jacket and falling softly, like snowflakes, to the dusty carpet below.





	

'I guess that's how I know you.'

The air was crisp and silent as he walked through the streets, his hands in his pockets and his grey eyes on the littered street that he walked every evening. Except this time, he was alone. Tears were no longer falling; he felt as though he may never feel again and yet felt everything far too much. Because this time, here was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do. The boy with dark hair mulled that over. His entire life, he'd been praised on his mind, his ability to solve the impossible, and yet the one time it had truly mattered, his skill, his 'genius' had amounted to nothing. 

'I'm falling for your eyes but they don't know me yet.'

His pace slowed as he reached the bookshop, his eyes sweeping over the faded sign that he was so familiar with, except now he was seeing it properly. The worn white that still managed to stand out against a bleak grey background. A subtle light in an overbearing darkness, just enough to make one happy. Like the blonde-haired boy is-was for him. 

'But I'm cold as the wind blows, so hold me in your arms.'

A strangled cry escaped the grey eyed boys throat in the most painful way imaginable. Sherlock lifted his head and sharply filled his lungs with the dusty London air. Before he could cry again, he turned on his hell and tried to expel those memories from his head. 

'And with a feeling I'll forget, I'm in love now.'

The time when John had spilled coffee on the book he was reading and the two had collapsed into perpetual giggles whilst desperately attempting to clear the mess up. Or the time they'd first held hands, in their special chairs beside the fireplace, and Sherlocks heart has been beating so fast that if he didn't know as much as he did about the human anatomy, he'd have thought he'd explode. His soft hands had been so clammy and he was so nervous about putting John off and wrecking everything, but the shorter boy had simply laughed and pressed their lips together in a way that Sherlock would never forget. 

'Kiss me like you wanna be loved.'

The memories raced through Sherlocks head, never ceasing, never dulling in intensity. His feet dragged him back to the apartment he now lived in alone and he slowly sank to the floor, flakes of wallpaper catching on his jacket and falling softly, like snowflakes, to the dusty carpet below. Finally, tears began to creep down Sherlocks ivory skin. Slowly at first, then faster, and he was sobbing, panting - unable to catch his breath. And he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe; John had been his life jacket, his light in the storm, and now, just like that - he was gone. Sherlock was drowning. 

'Settle down with me, I'll be your safety.'

Where once he hadn't felt emotion at all (or so he told himself), it now crashed down upon him in unforgiving waves of sorrow and anger. Sherlock screamed. His hands tangled roughly in his hair, pulling  
harshly at the sensitive follicles, his eyes were squeezed shut, in a failed attempt to block anything and everything out of his overwhelmed head. Crushed cries left his throat in a never ending bombardment.

'Lie down with me and hold me in your arms.'

His voice sounded shredded. Sherlock stood up abruptly and whirled around - unable to think straight, let alone make coherent decisions about what to do. His hands landed on the wall in front of him and he punched. And hit and kicked and attacked until his screams had died down to splintered whimpers, and his hands were bleeding, and multiple fingers were broken. And he was alone.

'I've been feeling everything, from hate to love, from love to lust, from lust to truth. I guess that's how I know you.'

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading !! i'm sorry that it's sad but :) (i don't own any characters mentioned)


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